She stumbled back from the window, clutching the drape and yanking it shut again, retreating into the dimness before they could see her.
It was an acute reminder of how dangerous her situation truly was.
If Rakhal was to be believed, he was the only one who knew she was here.
He was hiding her. For his own purposes.
And she was under no illusions about what would happen if she stepped outside this chamber. There would be no allies among the guards, no sympathy from the soldiers. Whoever had ordered her death—his father, surely—commanded their loyalty. To them she would be nothing more than prey. A trespasser in the heart of their stronghold.
The thought made her stomach twist.
Rakhal had stolen her life from one edge of the blade to another. He had been sent to kill her, and instead he had... kept her.
Why?
His words echoed back to her. A political union. An end to the war.
Perhaps. But whatever else it was, it was also power. A dangerous game, played in the dark, where she was the single piece everyone would move to control.
And if she misstepped, she would be broken in the process.
Her heart hammered as she stepped back from the window, fingers clutching the drape shut. The memory of those guards lingered, tusks glinting, their eyes sharp even at a distance.
She turned quickly, scanning the room again.
There—a doorway.
It stood open, not leading outside, but deeper into the chambers. Beyond it, only shadow, the kind that clung even when morning light tried to seep in.
She hesitated.
Not the stronghold proper, just another part of his domain.
No harm in going there. He hadn't forbidden her from exploring.
And if she was to be locked in here like some treasured hostage, she needed to know every corner of the place.
Drawing a breath, she gathered the loose folds of his shirt tighter around her shoulders and stepped toward the doorway.
She stepped into the passage, the stone cold beneath her bare feet, her nightgown brushing against her ankles as she moved. The air was heavier here, stale and untouched, the warmth of the hearth already fading into chill. Shadows pressed close against the walls, broken only by the faint spill of firelight from the chamber she had left behind.
Ahead, the corridor stretched into silence.
Several doors lined either side, heavy wooden frames set into rough-hewn stone. All were shut, heavy and forbidding—except one.
Through its narrow gap came the muted glow of daylight.
She hesitated, pulse quickening, every instinct warning her that this was not her place. And yet...
Curiosity tugged at her more insistently than fear.
She crept forward, each step measured, cautious, her ears straining for the slightest sound. The silence was absolute, almost oppressive, broken only by the faint whisper of her own breath.
Her fingers brushed the cold wall for balance as she drew nearer to the open doorway.
She slipped through the open doorway, drawn to the pale sliver of daylight spilling in from a high, narrow window.
Her eyes swept the room in a glance—shelves of stone, a desk scattered with parchment, the faint smell of ink and burnt wax. A study, or perhaps an office of sorts.
